THE I' , [1-1 I] H- P ;:.. ," -- .-.... "'" A Touch of the Tropic.s . www.fanimation.com . toll free 888.567.2055 945 Monument Drive. Lebanon, IN 46052 'The cAndrews Hotel A Truly Classic Hotel in the Heart of SAN FRANCISCO Named One of SF's Top Ten for Value in the NY Times .2 blocks to Union Square . " 48 Charming Rooms þo,'" 1 :r;t iii i . . DSLavailable in all rooms ,-4t.-I t ; P"I : . Evening Wine Hour ; ::01:' -, ' m. ,{f. . Home of Acclaimed :"ii't 'iÐ\;;:' ,1 Italian Restaurant HFinoll ) if '-g, J""- ..;' $89 '<) "',i , I t;;j,' '@' from i! ,", J - (It includes continental breakfast, Call for a detailed brochure 1.800.926.3739 624 Post SI. San Francisco 94109 · www.andrewshotel.com COMPUTER CRASHED ! I will get you up and running. Endlessly Patient Simple, direct English Not rapid computerese You'll learn to use all those helpful programs installed on your computer. richard.virga@pensidyne.com Servicing Manhattan 86th st. and South en C> c: 00. , wen wn ex> 'C coË o ......co en a C> 3 www.italiansun.com Under the ) ) I t1!!. .htJ( Toll-Free 800.594.2901 -c , Adoptio, b 'II,9S tt-e war. agel'. C) nv ßt l\P V '1o.r:'"-..alo...orC.It:1',aoToPareors _. 8" 32.. 1 : :-,v v ap.or'.- Russia. China. India. Korea. Thailand. United States "" 134 THE NEW YOR.KER, AUGUST 18 & 25, 2003 'c " derstand what she had spent the money on. He remembered her telling him when she broke her hip that she had over six thousand dollars set aside for "-you knOw." And he did know. For her funeral costs. He had to scratch to come up with the money fur a decent coffin. Cleaning out her room, he came across the spiral-bound notebook. It was filled with plaintive letters to the Califor- nia State Allocation Department, ask- ing when her inheritance would come. Folded in the front of the notebook was the original letter. He telephoned the number at the bottom of the page but got a message that the number had been dis- connected. Gilbert began to guess there was some sort of scam. He called Sheriff Brant Smich, asked him if he knew any- thing about California State Allocation. "Hell, yes. You get a letter from them sayin about you inherited some money and askin for your bank-account nmnbers? Don't believe none of it. Don't answer them. Bring the letter to the post office. They're after that outfit for mail fraud." With his mother gone, civilization began to fall away from him like feathers from a molting hen, In a matter of weeks he was eating straight from the frying pan. As is usual in the ranch world, things went from bad to worse. The drought settled deeper, like a lamprey eel sucking at the region's vitals. He had half-seen the scores of trucks emblazoned CPC- Consolidated Petrolemn Company- speeding along the dusty road for the past year, and knew that they were drilling for coal-bed methane on public land adjacent to his ranch. They pmnped the saline wastewater laden with mineral toxins into huge containment pits. The water was no good, he knew that, and it seemed a terrible irony that in such arid COlUltry water could be worthless. He had always voted Republican and supported energy development as the best way to make jobs in the hinterland. But when the poison wastewater seeped from the containment pits into the groundwater, into Bull Jump Creek, into his alfalfa irrigation ditches, even into the household well water, he saw it was killing the ranch. He fought back. Like other ranchers who once again felt betrayed by state and federal government, he wrote letters and went to meetings protesting coal-bed methane drilling and the hundreds of service roads and drill rigs and heary trucks D":' that were tearing up the country. The meetings were strange, for ecological con- servationists and crusty ranchers came to- gether in the same room, in agreement for once. He noted with satisfaction that the schoolteacher, Dan Moorhen, a bleeding- heart liberal ecology-minded freak, admit- ted that ranchers were the best defense against developers chopping up the land, that ranches and ranchers kept the Old West alive. When the gas-company reps or politicians came, the meetings were rancorous and loud and at the end people signed petitions with such force their pens ripped the paper, but it all meant nothing. The drilling continued, the poison water seeped, the grass and sage and alfalfa died. All he could do was hang on to the place. H e was unprepared for the telephone call from a neighbor, Fran Bang- harmer. It was the morning of the Fourth of]uly. "Too bad about Suzzy, all that right on the front page, too." "What do you mean?" he said. "What was on the front page?" ''Arrested for embezzlin. Monday's paper," "What!" Fran's voice was subtly tri- umphant, tinged with Schadenfreude, but Gilbert barely listened, hung up as soon as he could and drove into town to find a three-day-old paper and read for himself that his ex-wife had, fur years, been si- phoning tax money into a private bank accolUlt by a complex series of computer sleights of hand he could not understand. He went to the county jail and tried to see her but was turned away. "She don't want to see you, Gib, and she's got that right." Half of the stores in town were closed for the holiday. Already there were clus- ters of people along the sidewalk, al- though the parade didn't start lUltil one o'clock. In despair he drove down to Buf- falo to the video store where Rod worked. It was open, the windows draped with red-white-and-blue ribbons. A huge poster read: "RODEO DAYS! JULY 4 TO 10!" He fOlUld his younger son stocking the shelves with gaudy boxes. As he stood behind him he noticed the son's thinning hair and kit the hot breath of passing time. "Rod?" he said, and the young man turned around. "Dad." They looked at each other and the son dropped his eyes. Gilbert could